Morgan was already standing at the door when John arrived, eagerly waiting for him. The minute he pulled in front of the house, her face lit up in a bright smile. Morgan always wore the nicest clothing John had ever seen, but today she was dressed in her finest gown and seemed to shimmer in the sunlight of the courtyard. At first glance, her hair and eyes seemed brown—the same hair and eye color as the rest of her family, and practically all of Haven, for that matter—but John caught distinct glints of auburn as the evening sun reflected off her hair, which draped delicately around her shoulders. It was pulled away from her face by dainty jeweled pins that brought out the fiery gold flecks in her deep brown eyes. Her eyes, her lips, her smile, even the smallest movement of her hands seemed designed specifically to captivate John. She was a woman more perfect than he could have ever dreamed up on his own.
John’s heart began to race.
Today was the day. John and Morgan had spent a year carefully sneaking around, trying to keep their marriage a secret from her family. But today, with everyone gathered around the table, they would finally announce the truth. And he couldn’t wait.
It had been a year to the day since John and Morgan had secretly eloped. It wasn’t the wedding either of them had imagined, getting married in a dark shed with no witnesses, but neither of them wanted to wade through all the necessary formalities. Morgan’s family made it no secret someone like John would never be good enough for her, and they both doubted a passed Genetic Fitness Evaluation would change their minds. So they took matters into their own hands. They would marry, pass their evaluations, and then let Morgan’s family know the good news, asking for forgiveness rather than permission.
Before John could finish dismounting, Morgan had run down the steps of the entryway and into his arms. He hesitated to hug her for a minute, suddenly very aware he was covered in dust from his bike ride there, but Morgan took no notice as she threw her arms around his neck.
“I missed you,” she whispered in his ear.
“Then I will never leave again,” John sighed contently. The world never felt more at peace than when Morgan was in his arms. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you. It is a special occasion after all. I’m not overdressed, am I? I feel rather silly in this getup, but Evangeline always insists I need to dress more ‘lady-like’ so I figured this would put her in a good mood.”
“No, you look perfect,” said John.
She pulled John in closer, her eyes fixed on his as she smiled that beautiful smile that made John’s breath catch in his throat. “You look quite handsome yourself.”
John desperately wanted to kiss her right then and there but stopped himself. An ingrained habit he supposed. Still, it was probably best to hold off on such public affection until everything was out in the open.
Morgan must have sensed the reason for his hesitation because she too pulled away and assumed a more reserved stance. “How did it go today?” she asked eagerly, obviously trying to move past the awkwardness of their forced formality. “Were they able to see you?”
Morgan had had the forethought to get her testing done weeks ago. John had marveled at how effortless the whole process had been for her. Just another daily chore, like getting dressed or going to the market. She never seemed to have even a moment when the possibility of not passing had ever crossed her mind. The only part of the whole process that seemed to give her any anxiety was when she found out John had waited so close to the deadline to complete his last two tests.
Not that he would show it, but John had been a nervous wreck since testing began, especially the days Morgan went in for testing. Even before their wedding, he had always had a strong instinct to protect her, and the whole testing process made him feel powerless. This wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could be protected from.
But Morgan’s reassuring smile and lighthearted nature put John’s mind at ease for the first time since that morning. Her world was different from the one he had grown up in. It was safe and carefree, and he desperately wanted to be a part of that world. Holding up his wrist to show her his medical bracelet, John proudly said, “You’re looking at patient number 24819.”
“One less obstacle standing in the way of our announcement,” she said and sweetly pecked John on his cheek.
“Watch it with the public displays, you two,” said Charles, crossing the courtyard towards John and Morgan. He donned a black dress suit and his dark hair was flawlessly slicked back. Only his tie was imperfect, purposefully pulled askew in true Charles Loughlin fashion. He strutted towards John and Morgan, his hands casually in his pockets, limping slightly with each step. “Unless you want Evangeline and the other mothers to have a panic attack.”
Charles was the only member of Morgan’s family who knew of their relationship, but even he didn’t know the full extent of it.
“Charlie!” Morgan smiled as she embraced her brother. “Are you all right?” she asked, glancing down at his leg.
“Oh, of course,” he said dismissively. “I just aggravated the same old injury again. Good thing I wasn’t limping at my physical evaluation today or the doctor would have blown the whistle on me right then and there.”
“You waited until today too?” Morgan said. “Seriously, what am I going to do with you two?”
Charles shrugged. “Just love us,” he said, shooting John one of his signature winks.
“I’m just glad you came,” Morgan said.
“Of course,” Charles said. “I wouldn’t leave you two to fend for yourselves. Besides, Evangeline insisted, and it’s a little hard to dodge her invitations when I live in the guest house.”
“You know how she gets during the screening, all protective and sentimental,” Morgan replied. “Nothing brings people together like the threat of sterilization.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone in this family has ever been in danger of failing the evaluation test,” John said.
“No, but she never passes up an excuse to celebrate,” Charles said flatly.
As if summoned by the mere mention of her name, Evangeline, Arthur Loughlin’s first wife, stepped out onto the porch. She was a tall, slender woman, draped in pearls from head to toe. “There you two are,” she called across the yard. “Everyone has already gathered and we’re ready to begin. Come in, come in, dinner will be served soon,” she said, waving them inside.
“Thank you again for inviting me, Mrs. Loughlin,” John said.
“Oh, John, you made it,” she replied, noting John’s dusty, old clothes with a look of disdain. “Glad you could come. Hopefully, you won’t be too uncomfortable sitting at the table instead of serving the meal,” she added and disappeared inside the house.
“I’m starting to think this was a mistake,” Morgan whispered to John.
“No point putting off the inevitable,” Charles sighed and, holding his hand out towards the house, added with exaggerated fervor, “Shall we adjourn to the dining hall? I hear condescension and disappointment are on the menu tonight.”
Discreetly taking Morgan’s hand, John smiled. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
Charles winked. “Don’t worry. I usually have to eat that dish alone, so we’re all in good company.”
Only a decade or so ago, the people of Southend threatened to rise against the Council. Defiant sentiment quickly died out, however, and as a token of goodwill, the Council announced the marriage restrictions would be modified as to no longer prohibit marriages between citizens of different classes. Not that anything actually changed. It just made it improper for Northridge families to publicly forbid their children from marrying Southend residents. Instead, they put on cheerful smiles and blanketed their disapproval with comments like, “You’re already nineteen. Now’s not the time to focus on childish things like friendships and careers. Now is the time to start looking for a husband. A good, well-bred, successful husband.”
Except for Evangeline. She had absolutely no qualms whatsoever with clearly and openly voi
cing her disapproval.
The dining room seemed to sparkle as the electric lights danced off the pair of crystal chandeliers hanging above the massive oak table that spanned the entire room. Chairs lined each side of the banquet table, enough to accommodate over forty guests. One particularly lavish seat was positioned at the head of the table—the seat of honor, intended for the patriarch of the family. Morgan’s family was quite large, and despite the impressive size of the Loughlin mansion, few rooms could accommodate the entire family at once. John recalled a time when the family required two tables running parallel to each other to accommodate everyone. Now that some of the older children had married and moved to houses of their own, one table was enough. Barely.
Thirty years after Haven and the Council were first established, it was announced that, because of low population rates, the most patriotic thing the citizens of Haven could do was marry and have children as soon as possible. And the more times they could marry, the better. Therefore, any man who could prove himself mentally, physically, and financially able was, for a fee, granted the right to have multiple wives. The cost of marrying again increased exponentially with each wife, the idea being that the more intelligent and fit citizens would naturally become the wealthiest, and therefore would be the only ones able to afford it. With a total of seven wives, Dr. Arthur Loughlin was practically royalty.
The prospect of having multiple wives wasn’t something John had ever really considered. Maybe because that just wasn’t what he grew up with. When he was young, it was just him, his mother, and his father. That was how most families were in Southend, where people couldn’t afford the mandated fees to marry more than once. Some Southend merchants would scrape together whatever money they could and buy a second wife, thinking their new status symbol would impress customers, but such displays of excess were mostly reserved for the north side of the bridge.
One husband. One wife. That was the kind of family John had always pictured for himself. Some of his earliest memories were of his father taking his mother by the hand and dancing her around their tiny apartment. They did that a lot, even when they had guests over. It had always embarrassed John, but after his mother died and his father left, John would have given anything to see them dancing together again.
Seven wives in all, but only six were present. Morgan had also lost her mother when she was young. After their mother’s death, Morgan and Charles had been passed around amongst their “mothers,” a term the high-born, polygamist families liked to use to make their arrangement sound more nurturing. John often wondered if this was part of the reason he and Morgan had been drawn to each other in the first place. Two kindred spirits raised by women who were not their biological mothers.
Dr. Arthur Loughlin entered the dining room, his tall and broad stature demanding the respectful silence of even his most rambunctious children, and wordlessly took his place at the head of the table, cueing the rest of the family to sit as well. His first wife, and the head matriarch of the family, Evangeline, sat directly to his right. The wives and children filled the remaining chairs in order from oldest to youngest, the smallest children all sent to the foot of the table to be tended to by their nannies. Consequently, as Morgan was the third oldest child still living on the estate, she sat only five chairs down from Loughlin and, as her guest, decorum required John to be seated next to her, despite Evangeline’s frown of disapproval. Now that John was here, sitting at the table, mentally rehearsing the speech he had prepared for Morgan’s father one more time, five chairs of space still felt uncomfortably close.
Once everyone was seated, nearly half a dozen maids carried in trays of food from the kitchen in synchronized elegance, filling the room with delicious aromas and cheerful conversation as dinner was served—savory meats and colorful fruits and vegetables, the kind of decadence John had never seen outside the Loughlin home. But even the magnificence of the feast set before him wasn’t enough to fully pull John’s focus from the three servants standing at attention against the dining room walls. All men. All from Southend. All declared unfit. All unable to get a job doing anything else besides serving the elite.
“So, John,” Leonora said, snapping John’s attention back to the table, “you and Morgan have been spending a lot of time together lately.” Leonora was Loughlin’s third wife, or maybe she was his fourth. It was hard to keep them straight. “Hopefully it’s not getting in the way of any of Morgan’s potential suitors.”
“Well, actually—” John began.
Evangeline cut him off. “Of course it’s not, why would it? Morgan’s just being smart. She knows there’s no point in entertaining a suitor until after the evaluation results come back.”
“And all three of you will pass, of course,” Leonora said. “You’re all young, strong, and intelligent.”
“Some more than others,” Evangeline said quickly as she took a long drink from her goblet.
“That doesn’t necessarily guarantee anything,” Priscilla chimed in, not responding to Evangeline’s remarks, if she had heard them at all.
That’s right. Priscilla was wife number four, so Leonora was definitely wife number three.
“True. You never know who might be an unfit these days,” Leonora added. “But blood never lies.”
“It’s such a shame. More fit people need to do their part or there won’t be any of us left,” added Maybelle. John wasn’t sure which wife she was.
“What part?” asked Charlotte, Morgan’s fifteen-year-old half-sister. If John remembered correctly, she was Priscilla’s daughter. Six wives, almost thirty children, it was a lot of names to keep straight.
“You know, get married, have babies,” Maybelle explained. “It’s the most respectable profession a woman could ever undertake,” she said, and although she wasn’t looking directly at Morgan when she said it, everyone knew who the comment was directed at.
John sighed. Ever since he had met Morgan, she had aspired to become the first woman on the Council. She worked hard for it every day too, spending hours upon hours studying the laws of Haven. But her mothers disapproved, of course, and since it was not John’s place to speak against them, he bit his tongue.
“Absolutely. It’s the same for a man. And the more times a man can get married the better,” said Samuel. Samuel was Evangeline’s oldest son and, like Morgan, aspired to be on the Council one day. Samuel had just become engaged to a pair of sisters. Leonora’s nieces, if John remembered correctly.
“I don’t think I could bear to share my husband with another woman,” Charlotte exclaimed.
“That’s awfully selfish, don’t you think?” Evangeline said, scolding her impetuous half-daughter.
“Not at all. In fact, I think I’ll change things up a bit and have a handful of husbands all to myself.”
Samuel laughed. “That won’t do anyone any good.”
“Why not?” Charlotte asked, sticking out her bottom lip.
“Doesn’t help grow the population. Two men to one woman can only make one baby. But one man to two women can make two babies. It’s simple, really,” he explained.
“If she doesn’t want to share her husband then she shouldn’t have to. She still has the right to choose,” Morgan said.
“Ha!” Samuel scoffed. “Since when did allowing people to choose for themselves do anyone any good?”
“Well, either way, I think Morgan has the right idea. Get with a poor man who can’t afford to buy another wife,” Charlotte said.
“Charlotte!” her mother said sharply, shooting her daughter a look that made it clear she had gone too far.
“It’s all right,” John said.
“They are not together,” Priscilla explained to her daughter. “And John is not poor. He’s just young. Once he finishes school, he’ll get a respectable, well-paying job like any other gentleman his age.”
“I’m actually not in school right now,” said John.
Priscilla waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll start soon then.”
“Probably not. The entrance fees alone require years of saving,” John said. “Not to mention the obvious nepotism problem in admissions.”
“There isn’t a nepotism problem,” Loughlin said, speaking for the first time since dinner had begun. His quiet yet resonant voice demanded the attention of the entire room, silencing all whispers and side conversations. “They just have to be selective. It’s a waste of the professors’ time to try and teach someone who just isn’t up for the challenge.”
“It just seems like that only applies to anyone born south of the bridge,” John argued, less sure of his stance now that all eyes were on him.
“Perhaps it would no longer be the case if more people in Southend took the time to teach themselves basic skills, like how to read,” Samuel chimed in.
John cast his eyes down to his lap. Now was not the time to start a debate, not when he so desperately needed their approval.
Morgan had no such reservations, however. “And how are they supposed to do that when there’s no funding to keep the schools open?” she contended.
“Is this an appropriate discussion to have at the dinner table?” Genevieve, Loughlin’s newest wife, interrupted, to John’s relief. She and Loughlin had married only a few years ago, and she couldn’t have been much older than Morgan at the time.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Loughlin,” John said. “I meant no disrespect.”
“John doesn’t need any more schooling right now,” Morgan said. “He already has a good job at the Lab.”
“Yes, please tell us, John,” Samuel sneered, “what kind of advancement opportunities are there for a dish boy?”
Morgan opened her mouth to protest, but Charles interrupted her before she had a chance to get a word out.
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